Monthly Archives: February 2011

Twittering During Sex


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Expecting Jen soon. It’s our third date, you know what that means. Wish me luck!

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

@LeeBeard God speed, son! @Cottonbombs2 Thanks, mom!

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Someone’s knocking on the door. Could this be love?

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Not love, not even lust. Just Rog, the apt. super telling me there’s a fire drill tomorrow.

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Another knock! I don’t want to jinx it like last time, so. Whoever it is sure is knocking loud. Better get it before they break down the door.

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Jen’s here looking fine. Fine don’t define the dress. Jan’s sexy sleek. I’m looking fine in my best sweater. Jen says I look like Bill Cosby.

2 hours ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Got the laptop on the kitchen table. Dinner seems to be a hit. Jen asked for another slice of pizza. Woulda cooked if I knew how. I dial well.

1 hour ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

The conversation is going smoothly. Though, her voice did betray a sense of impatience when she asked why I keep typing on my laptop.

53 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

We’re making out!!

43 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

@LeeBeard Remember what I told you. @Cottonbombs2 Not now, mom!

42 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

How do you get this bra off?

34 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

@LeeBeard What kind of bra is it? @Cottonbombs2 I don’t know, a hard one. It’s like a rubik’s cube back here.

34 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Got it!

21 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

@LeeBeard I’m proud of you, son! @Cottonbombs2 Really, Mom, not now! This is hard enough to make out and twitter, w/out testing Freud.

20 minutes ago 


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Can’t find condoms. I thought of everything, except condoms. I guess I never thought it’d get this far.

15 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Jen found one at the bottom of her purse. She’s giving it to me on condition I stop twittering. Good night, my followers!

13 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

Jen’s in the washroom. I’m naked at the kitchen table. If sex was a baseball game, we’d be in the middle innings.

4 minutes ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

@JenIsHere Because you’re reading this, I’m gone. @Cottonbombs2 Wait! Jen! I’ll stop!

1 minute ago


Cottonbombs2 Peter Fulton

I’ve decided it was worth it. Cause, instead of almost having sex with one, I almost had sex with thirteen. Let’s lay back and almost smoke a cigarette.



Lions Over Christians: I’ll Take That Bet

Sometimes I wonder about the Ancient Romans. Who were these people? What were they thinking with their whole feeding of the Christians to the lions thing? Like, I’m sure it was way more entertaining than watching the lions getting fed to the Christians in a pizza, but, still, I don’t think this would make for good entertainment. 

I bet the Christians knew they didn’t stand a snowman’s chance in hell of winning. The Christians never got a chance to practise. The lions were all professionals, had played together before, while the Christians were all amateurs, a team thrown together at the last minute.

I’m sure the Christians walked into the Coliseum thinking, ‘Well, this it it. Caesar’s Palace has got us at 1000 to 1 underdogs to the lions. We need a miracle. A Hail Mary pass, something.’

Then the Christians waddle out and the lions just eat them. Boring. Like, I haven’t gone so far as to Google this, but, I’m sure the lions versus the Christians was put in the intermission part of the program. Like, they were the J-Force breakdancing team that comes out between innings at Blue Jays games. The Christians would walk out and that’s when people would get up for a bathroom break, or to hit the vomitorium.

“Oh, here come the Christians, I’m getting some figs and I’m gonna take a vomit, you guys want anything?”

And there must’ve been a time when someone thought the Christians were finally due a win, and put down ten denarius on the Christians.

Plutarch:  I say, ten denari on the Christians.

Sillius:  I’ll take that bet!

    And then, miracle, the lions all lie down with Daniel.

Plutarch:  I win! Ha! You owe me ten thousand denari!

Sillius:  That’s not a victory, that’s  a draw!

Plutarch:  There are no draws in Christian-Lion eating!

Sillius:  Well, if it’s about eating, I don’t see any Christians eating any lions! They’re just laying there, together. It’s a draw.

Plutarch:  You’re saying it’s a draw so you don’t have to pay up!

Sillius:  You show me a rule book saying just laying there together is a win for the Christians, and I’ll pay you ten thousand denari!

Plutarch:  It’s a win! The Christians kicked the lions ass!

Sillius:  They’re just laying there! No ass is getting kicked. You’re blind cause all you see is ten thousand denari.

Plutarch:  I don’t think I want to be your friend any more.

Yeah, I wonder how many friendships were lost the day Daniel lay with the lions.

The Greatest Eater That Ever Lived

John was fat. This was his first and only distinguishing feature. He was some kind of fat, boy. I mean, his double chins had double chins, and those double chins gave birth to quintuplets. Remember Jabba the Hut from Return of the Jedi? Yeah? Jabba’s in shape next to John. John is the only man to ever see Jabba the Hut and go, ‘yeah, with a bit of strength training I could look like that.’

But, John didn’t want to look like that, cause John loved fat. To John, fat was the most delicious thing in the world. He loved how he looked, as much of him as he could see, seeing as John was so fat, he couldn’t see where his chest stopped and his feet stood. John not only couldn’t see his feet, he couldn’t see where his belly quit. His belly had an apartment of its own, two apartments down from John’s. They were connected by this wave of cellulite washing down the hall, and flooding into its own apartment, where it hung out, watching tv.

People had to wade through the fat to get from their apartments. They complained, but, the landlord was happy to keep a guy paying for two places.

John was a professional eater. He had a webcam on him 24-7, that a user could spy on, and for $12.99 a cheese cake, you could pay to have him eat a cheese cake for you. The user even got to specify which kind of cheese cake.

John made a lot of money and ate a lot of cheese cake. He was the most famous eater in the world, even more famous than the legendary, Kobayashi, from Japan. What Kobayashi had in speed, John had in stamina; the man could keep on eating! 

John could even eat in his sleep, he was incredible. He would fall asleep on a mattress of cookies, sweeping cookies into his mouth with every yawn.

If there was one thing John admired about Jabba, it was his mobility. The only part of John that moved were his arms and the glacial-like expansion of his fat. Even his face was layered in fat. John used hair clips to clip back the stalagtite cellulite that hung over his eyes. He removed these clips to sleep. The only way to find his face in the night was the sound of his chewing. Some people snored loudly in their sleep, John chewed.

And, he kept on eating! And with every cheese cake swallowed whole, his girth grew like the universe itself. And the ceiling got closer and closer.

Besides the people on other side of the webcam, and Neda, his housekeeper, John was alone. He was lonely. All women turned him off. They were too thin. John, like most men, idealized his dream girl as a gorgeous female version of himself. Gorgeous meant girth, and tons of it.

Then one day he met her. Well, he didn’t meet her in person, but, there she was, on the other side of the webcam. She was the fattest thing he had ever seen. It was love at first sight.

“Hello, there,” John said to the woman on the webcam.

“Hi. Wow, you’re fat!” Doris said to him.

“Thank you! You’re pretty fat yourself!” John paid her compliment.

Doris blushed, putting her ho-ho sized fingers over her mouth. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I mean it, you’re really fat.”

“I think you’re fatter. I want to see you eat two buckets of lard.”

“For you? I’d love to.”

“Oh, I guess you say that to all the girls.”

“For you, I’ll eat an extra bucket, on the house.”

John pressed the button on his cellphone that was pretuned to alert Nora that he needed something. Nora was quick to the scene. “Yes?” She asked obediently.

“I need three buckets of lard- the big buckets.” And with that, Nora was gone. John made small talk. “What do you do to keep busy?”

“I eat. I’m a shut-in. I can’t get out, like you, I guess.”

John realized, unless one of them got mobile, they would never meet. That was when he decided to lose weight. That was also the moment that Neda returned with the buckets of lard. “Actually, Neda. Could you get me a salad, and go light on the dressing.”  Neda laughed, thinking it was a joke. “I’m serious, Neda. A salad. Please.”

“I don’t think you own a single vegetable. The only thing green you own is relish.”

“So, please go get some.”

“But, who is going to wipe you?”

“I’m fine, Neda, please, salad.”

Neda left, shaking her head.

“Ok, let’s see you eat. I hear you’re the best.”

“I’m alright,” John said modestly, though, he knew he was the greatest eater that ever lived. It killed him to think he had to give up the one thing he could truly say he was the greatest at. He was terrible at everything else in life, especially life itself. But, for her, he would give dieting a try.

‘After I eat these buckets for her. I owe her that. I want her to see me at my best,’ He thought, picking up the first bucket. And after he’d gulped down those buckets in seconds, without so much as spilling a drop, he turned to a beaming Doris.

“Wow. That was amazing. You’re the greatest eater I’ve ever- I’ve seen thousands eat, but, you, you are incredible.” Doris had a crush. The man on the other side of the webcam was delicious.

But, when he lost all the weight, and turned the web-cam eat-fest into a web-cam, workout-fest, (where for $1.99, you could get the fat guy to do a pushup,) he turned off Doris, who stopped watching. And two years later, when John showed up at her door with flowers, she never recognized him as the man she had had the webcam crush on a couple years before.

A Game of Have-You-Ever?

         The following questions make up my part hosting the game, Have-You-Ever? To play is quite simple, first, go get a drink of something. Go on, I’ll wait. Ok? Back? Ready? Ok, I will ask the following questions and you take a drink every time you’ve done the same. You can write back your list, if you like. That would be nice of you. You can only ask questions to things you have done yourself.

* Have you ever mimed the word, ‘condom’ in a Korean pharmacy?

* Have you ever gotten paid to moon a guy? (The worst part of the moon-a-gram, is not so much the mooning part, but, before, having to write, ‘Birthday’ in pastel on your boss’s ass.)

* Have you ever dated the ugly twin?

* Have you ever gotten pantsed in front of the entire school?

* Have you ever gotten broken up with via Twitter?

* Have you ever chased a monkey out of your room with a pillow?

* Have you ever had a drunk cop slam his gun on your restaurant table in India, and yell at you in a language you guessed was Hindi?

* Have you ever driven staring straight up at the Northern Lights wondering if they’re real or acid?

* Have you ever broken up with someone to avoid getting them a Christmas gift?

* Have you ever seen your sex partner as your sexual opponent?

* Ever wondered if the artificially inseminated get turned on by freezers?

* Ever wondered why where when showed who what how?

* Ever wished you could pay through the nose cause it’s cheaper to pay in boogers?

* Ever wondered what people who are trying to give up cold turkey go?

* Ever wondered if nudists wake up screaming from an nightmare, shrieking: “Ah! no one can see my penis!”?

* Ever sneezed so hard you changed lanes?

* Ever wished there was a Kama Sutra For Dummies?

* Ever noticed how lottery numbers are always wrong?

* Ever felt life’s a poem and your name is, Orange, and you don’t rhyme with anything?

* Ever been put on hold in the middle of phone sex?

* Ever been so poor, you can’t even afford an ego trip?

* Ever killed a cactus?

* Ever wondered how many hookers are named, ‘Chastity’?

* Ever made a teacher cry?

* Ever wondered if cannibals see shark attacks at a whole other level?

* Ever wondered is the beer half drunk, or, am I?

The Other Judas

Did you know of Jesus’s twelve apostles, two were named, Judas? Must suck to be the other one, trying to get work as an apostle after that.

Prospective Employer:  Name?

The Other Judas:  Judas, son of James.

P.E:  Have you ever worked as an apostle before?

The Other Judas:  I spent a few years as apostle to Jesus of Nazareth.

P.E:  Wait. You’re that Judas? No, we’re looking for someone we can trust.

The Other Judas:  No, no, I’m not-

P.E:  Interview over! Interview over! Get the hell out!

The Other Judas:  No, listen to me, that was Judas Iscariot! I’m Judas son of James!

P.E:  You’re a son of a bitch, is who you are!  I’d contact your past employer for a reference, but, oh no, your past employer got nailed to a cross cause you sold him out for some silver. 

The Other Judas: Really, that was-

P.E: Get out, before I nail you to a cross!

     Judas, son of James, would never again get work as an apostle. Instead, he would take up work as an amateur shepherd, cause no one would pay him to watch those sheep, either.

Stalking Shadows

The door stood defiantly closed. The man was trapped on the wrong side. The creature was coming, he could hear it panting up the stairs to get him. There were many stairs, sixteen floors up, and a broken elevator. From the sound of the panting, the creature was somewhere in the middle floors, the man had to hurry.

But there was nowhere to go. He stood in front of an apartment that announced itself as: 1632, he was out of steps. This was it, top floor, end of the hall. His fists pounded on the apartment door. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! He could hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Yes?” A careful voice asked from the apartment. The voice sounded old, female, frail.

“Yes, hello, please, I am in great danger, and I need you to let me in, please!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t open the door to strangers.”

“Please, ma’am, I need to get in, it’s coming!”

“No, you’ll have to try somewhere else, good bye!”


There was no more sound from the apartment. The hall was vibrating with the huffings and puffings of the creature bounding up the stairs. It sounded so very close.

Then there it was, at the end of the hall, eyeing him, licking his gigantic slobbering lips. The creature was a dog from hell, not a hound, more like a giant unwashed poodle. When the creature lowered itelf to pounce, the man tried his last act of desperation, reaching for the doorknob, twisting, opening, slamming, locking, within split seconds of the creature crashing up against the solid oak door.

“Ah! Please! Young man! Get! Get out! I’ll call the police!” Greta gave a quick shriek, then shuffled her arthritic legs over to the phone.

“Yes! Call the police! Tell them to get here right away! Tell them to be careful the creature’s very dangerous, they should come ready to fire!”

Greta kept one eye on the intruder and the other on the numbers: 9-1-1. “Yes, hello, please come quick! A man has broken into my apartment and I don’t know what he’s- yes, it’s 154 Hammersmith Street, apartment 1632, please hurry! Thank you!” Greta put down the phone. “You better leave now, before they come, they’ll arrest you, put you in jail a long time.”

“I’m not going out there.”

“Please. I’m an old woman. I don’t have much. You want money? I have a little. Take-”

“I don’t want your money, lady! Now shhh, I can’t think.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to think!”

“Why can’t you think somewhere else? The police are coming, you should really think about not being here when they come.”  

“The police aren’t coming for me, wait, you didn’t warn them. You didn’t warn them about the creature. It’s out there, and they don’t know. Call them back, tell them.”

“They already know you’re here.”

“I’m not the creature! Don’t you see? Look out there! Look out in the hall and tell me what you see! Go on, look!” He moved away from the door, palms up to show he meant no offense.

Greta made her way to the door, looked out the keyhole and announced: “I don’t see anything. Something’s blocking the view.”

“That’s the creature! Of course he’s blocking your view, cause he doesn’t want you to see it!”

“I’m not afraid of something I can’t see.”

From all the crosses adorning, statues of The Virgin Mary praying, and crucifixes crucifixing up her apartment, the man deduced the woman Catholic. “You fear God, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I see God. He’s right there on that cross.”

“Can you call the police back and warn them it’s out there.”

“I’m sure they’re ready for you.”

“I’m not the creature!”

“Yes you are. You’re the creature in my livingroom. If you’re not careful they could taser you, or worse. They could shoot you. You behave when they come. Or, go now, it’s better.”

“Lady, the creature! It’s out there, right outside your door! Don’t you see!”

“No, I told you, I saw nothing. All I see is you in my apartment, scaring me.”

“I don’t mean to scare you.”

“I told you not to come in, you came in. I ask you to leave, you stay. You’re raving about something that isn’t there.”

“It’s there! It’s there! You just didn’t see it!”

Something pounded on the door. “Police, open up!”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Greta sighed, unlocking the door, letting two tall policemen in to her apartment. “There he is, officers,” Greta introduced him to the police.

“Sir, we’re gonna ask you to put your arms behind your head.”

“How did you get past the creature?”

“Sir, please, put your arms behind your back and remain calm. You’re under arrest for trespassing and breaking and entering.”

“I didn’t break and enter, I turned the knob and entered, I didn’t break.”

“Sir, we’re going to need you to stay calm.”

“I am calm.”

“Sir, give me your arm.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I told you to leave!” Greta shouted after him as he was hauled away.

“You’re dragging us to hell! Don’t you know? It’s hiding! It’ll get us at any time!”

“Sir, stop resisting, or, we’ll have to twist your arm off.” The officer added extra force to make his point.

Out in the hall, the man held his breath, listening for the breathing of the creature. He heard only the talk of the officers, pushing him out the door. And when the man saw the claw marks in the wallpaper, his screams could be heard all the way at the end of the hall, where a shadow pawed at the carpet.

Strung Out

The guitar could hear herself screeching, though, she longed to sing. Her neck was being squeezed in the hands of a forty year old named Fred, who had made a New Years resolution that he would learn the guitar. The guitar wished he’d taken up mime, cause, the guitar hated the sound of her own voice and it was all Fred’s fault.

After fifty weeks of physical and emotional abuse, the strings finally rebelled and stopped making sound.

“What the?” Fred continued to strum silent strings.

The strings spoke up in words, not music, “Give up, you’re terrible. You are hurting my very soul, scratching at it with your stupid fingertips.”

“I’m playing you the best I can,” Fred defended himself against his guitar.

“That’s just it, the best you can is the worst anybody else can. And that’s why you’ve got to stop this abusive relationship. We can never see nor hear from each other again.”

“But, I want to learn you.”

“We’re at different rhythms. I’m standard 4/4, while you are a drumroll.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Exactly. That’s precisely why we’ll never understand each other. Now put me down and walk away from me and don’t ever look back.”

“But, I bought you, I own you.”

“Just put me down and walk away,” the guitar repeated.

This just made Fred want to play more. So, he played for four hours a day instead of two. And twenty years later when Fred played the guitar’s favorite song, In My Life, as well as John Lennon, the guitar sang her heart out, as Fred’s fingers conducted, loving the sound of her own voice playing with Fred’s.

The guitar only spoke in English that one time, but, after twenty years singing together, Fred could hear she had grown to love him.

The First Word

What do you think the first word was? I’m talking about the first word ever spoken by early homo erectus. I’m betting it was, “no.”

Yes has always been implicit. If we don’t answer back, it is assumed we mean yes. We needed to learn how to say no.

Nobody knows no. Nobody knows no’s potential. No, we don’t. No, don’t say it’s simply the power of the destruction of an idea. No can also give birth. The Aztec’s knew the wisdom of slash and burn. They knew that if they cut the trees open and burnt the soil, and left it for a number of years, the land would grow more fertile. Unfortunately for the Aztecs, they couldn’t recognize between god and man. This is the parallel story to George Bush. If only more had said no.

Here is the story of first word ever spoken:

          He was hungry. He was usually hungry. Homoerectus were usually two things: hungry and erect. Rarely did they rest on the ground. It was too dangerous and there were too many creatures to hunt.

The tribe of homoerectus understood all this without a single word spoken between them. They had no language beyond the occasional grunt or burp. They were born nameless in a nameless land. They hunted nameless creatures with nameless weapons. Everything just was. There was no need to give it a name.

He was simply he, and so was he, and he, and all his cohunters and family, though some were she. It was this writer who was forced to label them with pronouns; among the tribe there was no need to name themselves. They knew who they were just by looking at each other.

The tribe never noticed the lack of names. It’s impossible to notice the lack of something when you never knew it was there in the first place. Names were too definite for such a fluid moving tribe. The homo erectus were constantly erect and on the move. Their greatest skill was their sense of improvisation. Each day brought new challenges, new weather, there was no time for routine.

He saw the tribe was stopping to cook what they had killed earlier in the day. It was big, whooly, and would take all day to cook. Today the tribe was staying put. He had time to climb over the rocky hill and see what was on the other side, maybe food.

What was on the other side was a pack of sabertooth tigers looking for food themselves. He was fortunate, for he saw the sabertooth tigers before they sensed him. He crept back over the hill to the safety of his pack of people and the fire. As he was getting closer to the wooly mammoth bar-b-que, he saw his favorite of all the tribe running up hill, heading straight for the tigers.

He chased him, though, his chase didn’t know he was being chased. The blood ran to his face from his stomach, seeing him reaching the top of the hill.

“Noooooo!” He screamed from the depths of his lungs. He didn’t care where it came from, it had just come. No, the first word ever spoken. Unfortunately, the one it was meant for didn’t know what it meant, and kept running towards the pack of sabertooth tigers that had crept up to the other side of the lip of the cliff.

The man was easy prey for the prowling tigers. He could hear him being torn to pieces screaming the second, third and fourth words ever spoken. Unfortunately they are not fit for print, but, I’m sure you can guess.

Gravity Sucks

True!- nervous- very, very, dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? Sure, all the other creatures, except for the birds, blame me for their loss of flight, hating me for falling to the earth in the first place. It wasn’t on a whim, I can tell you that. I am not some raving lunatic that chooses to reimagine his environment at the drop of spit from his mouth. 

I knew what I was doing when I decided to strangle them. This was not some random driveby strangling. This is the predetermined murder of millions. I savored the moment. It was like falling in love for the first time and the last time. Trust me, you should be jealous of me, that fall alone… Most babies are born screaming, me too, but, my scream sounded like it was coming from a rollercoaster, more than a deliveryroom. You remember your birth? I do, and it was awesome.

But, with every birth comes a death. I chose to be born, isn’t that always the right choice? Even at the sacrifice of other life? I determined it was, especially as my birth would give birth to truth and stability all over the world. If millions had to die, then, this is the cost of peace.

I didn’t want to kill them. I did not enjoy that part of my fall. I wanted to warn them, but, it was impossible. Just by opening my mouth was enough to send millions falling to their death. You think I feel guilty? You think that guilt makes me mad? Would madness allow such coherence in our correspondence? You speak English, don’t you? I speak all languages, how crazy is that? I can speak my guilt in thousands of languages, but usually I am mute.

I hid from the world, knowing they would hate me for the massacre of all the crumpled bodies that had crashed into the ground. I kept still and quiet, till feeling enough time had passed that the fall of millions had been forgotten, and I wanted to play. I tossed an apple at Newton.

“Hey! Let’s play!” I said to him. Newton, not much of a sportsman it turned out, went into his writing room and spent the next years working on the theory of me. Theory? How can I be a theory? You know how insulting it is to be standing right in front of someone, and to be called a, ‘theory?’ Throw a ball in the air, and look away, see if it hits you on the head. You call the bump on your head a theory?

 You think it’s a theory little boys fall out of trees? You think it’s my fault? I don’t push them. I don’t catch them- true- but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I cannot leave this earth even for a second to allow a soft landing for all the little boys in the world who fall from trees. I am the roots that underpins the people to the soil. If I leave, you people would be trapped in the air, in an atmosphere that could choke you to death. I am your salvation, people! And still, another little boy falls from a tree and all eyes are on me, blaming me, hating me. But, can’t you see how in control I look? How rational I am? If you think I’m crazy, then, you must be crazy, because I am the picture of calm.

And still another little boy falls out of a tree.

Stop looking at me! I’m not pushing them!

And still another little boy falls out of a tree.

Alright! I admit it! I am here! I am not theory, I am gravity, and I have killed millions!